


Just Checking In

by Just_here_for_a_laugh



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Harleen Quinzel, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Friendship, Harley Quinn - Freeform, Harley's hyenas, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is a good brother, Jason Todd is a good detective, Jason is a barista, Jason is sarcastic and reckless and needs more concern for his own wellbeing, Light Angst, Mild Swearing, Red Hood - Freeform, Resurrected Jason Todd, Robin - Freeform, Sort Of, Tim Drake has bad handwriting cause I said so, Undercover, but this one isn't shippy, mentions of the batfam, not written as shippy but if that's what floats your boat have at it, peculiar friendship, tbh the beginning of this is very similar to another fic I wrote called Surveillance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24195961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_here_for_a_laugh/pseuds/Just_here_for_a_laugh
Summary: Jason has a job as a barista to spy on the empty warehouse across the street. Everything is going fine until one of his more unusual friends drops by to check in on him. A story of somewhat unlikely friends and learning to trust the people who care about you
Relationships: Harleen Quinzel & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel (implied)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 189





	Just Checking In

Jason was making orders faster than most people could sign their own name. The morning rush was hitting hard and dealing with angry business people was not something he wanted to do. Firstly because it wasn’t worth his time. If he’d wanted to go head to head with financial advisors in suits he’d have taken the job Bruce offered him at WE. Secondly, he knew exactly how those interactions would go and while he would thoroughly enjoy the satisfaction that came with winning he did actually like this job and wanted to keep it for at least a few more weeks. So, instead of flirting with the nice ones and telling the others exactly where they could shove their double shot no foam cappuccino, Jason flew through the orders like these customers needed them as much as they thought they did. Not even turning around to the counter he frothed milk and pulled levers and slid cups of coffee along the smooth granite with a precision that was nearly frightening, and if anyone else in the shop had known where it came from it certainly would be.

  
At the end of every order he glanced at the name on the cup and called it out. Honestly that was the most difficult part of the process. The kid taking orders, Martin, was a really bright kid; he was funny and Jason liked him a lot, but damn his handwriting was atrocious. Jason could usually make out the first letter and occasionally the last without issue, but the rest took as much detective work as half of his cases. He finished the cream heart design at the top of this latest order and scanned the scribble under the lip. Gosh, he’s worse than Tim, he thought as he squinted and settled on a guess.

  
“Quince!” he called out, setting the order on the bar and turning to the next before his fingertips ever left the cup.

  
“It’s Quinzel,” said a voice that made him freeze where he was, “and you know it.” He turned around to see the impeccably dressed blonde woman sipping her coffee, the smile hidden by her cup but never from her eyes sweet and friendly and anything but innocent. Jason took off his apron and threw it on the counter.

  
“I’m going on break,” he announced gruffly, ignoring the indignant squawks from his coworkers that followed. He liked this job but some things did take precedence. He pushed through the swinging counter door and made his way to a table by the wall. It wasn’t ideal for having a covert conversation but it was far enough from the exit to prevent any hasty escapes and had a good view of the abandoned warehouse across the street; he had a job to do after all. The woman followed him and slid into the seat across. She’d barely sat down when he leaned across the table and hissed.

  
“What’re you doing here Harley?”

  
“What? I can’t check in on my favorite little bird every now ‘n then?” She laughed under her breath as Jason rolled his eyes. He sighed. He was used to the woman who may qualify as his strangest friend (and that was really saying something) popping up unexpectedly, but this was less than convenient to say the least.

  
“I’m workin’ Harley.”

  
“Yeah, I know. And I know it ain't just on caramel macchiatos and fresh soy lattes.” Jason groaned. Of course she knew. Why had he expected anything less?

  
“Alright then you know why I’m here, but I still don’t know why you are.”

  
“That is why moron,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “You’re out here in some seriously shady business, and from the looks of it you got no equipment, nobody inside, and no backup.”

  
“I’ve always got backup,” he mumbled before he could catch himself. It was true after all, he knew the bats would be there if he asked, and sometimes if he didn’t, even if he didn’t always like to admit it. Harley raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  
“So you don’t have equipment or a man inside?”

  
“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” came the reply, but there wasn’t much heat in it.

  
“Hey, can’t blame a girl for trying. You ain’t exactly an open book, TJ.” Jason huffed a laugh. He’d stopped contesting the nickname by now, despite his initials still being the other way round.

  
“I’m fine Harley.” He said leaning back in his chair. “My intell’s good and I can see everything I need from right here. I don’t need wiretaps and button cams, I already know what they’re doing. I’m not looking for reasonable doubt, I’m looking for a way in.”

  
“Good,” Harley nodded, impressed. “S’bout time someone started takin’ care of the vermin problem we got in this city, and all due respect to Batsy but your dad is sorta slow on the uptake sometimes you know?”

  
“He’s not my dad.” Jason rolled his eyes.

  
“Whateva, I say tomata you say tomahta.”

  
“You know I’ve never understood that phrase. Who’s even sayin’ tomahto anyway?”

  
“Ivy.” Harley answered, rolling her eyes until they landed directly on Jason’s. “It’s insufferable. She says it's a British pronunciation, I say it’s a pretentious pronunciation, but ‘ay like I said, tomata tomahta.” This time Jason did laugh. He grabbed a sugar packet from the table stock and started twirling it over his fingers absentmindedly. He liked the way it flipped by its own weight and the crinkling sound the paper made when he bent it.

  
“Speakin’a the Bat,” he said, accidently flinging the sugar packet out of his grip and under a nearby table. “Whoops,” he said as they both giggled. He turned back to the other half of this odd-couple friendship. “Didn’t he just bust you like a week ago for armed robbery or somethin’?” Harley waved her hand dismissively.

  
“Yeah, yeah, but that’s an easy rap to beat.”

  
“You were standing in the middle of the joint with a Mac-10!” Jason laughed.

  
“Exactly, when have you ever known me to use a Mac-10 TJ? Nobody bought that story. Break’s my whole M.O.”

  
“Alright what story did they buy?” Harley grinned.

  
“I told ‘em the clown made me do it.” Once again Jason laughed.

  
“And the hyenas?”

  
“Well even that monster never kept me from takin’ my babies on a walk,” she laughed, and Jason shook his head.

  
“Incredible.” He looked up, suddenly concerned. “He didn’t, did he?” he asked with decidedly more gravel in his voice. Harley shook her head.

  
“Just a story, but they bought it hook, line, and sinker. It wasn’t even loaded. And ‘ay, if blaming that bastard gets me outta jail and back to dismantling his sorry excuse for a criminal empire, I ain’t afraid to shed a few fake tears in court.”

  
“Hey,” Jason chuckled, “I’ll drink to that. I blame the clown’s damage on a lotta things myself.” Harley raised her coffee cup in a mocking toast.

  
“If it gets you where you’re going,”

  
“Might as well use it, amen sister.” Jason looked across the table at Harley’s smile that mirrored his and thought about how far they’d both come. This weird little friendship they’d developed; they weren’t exactly like siblings, goodness knows Jason had enough of those, but they looked out for each other. Both scarred by the Joker, both battling through to better, and both very different people than they had been the first time the little bird and the crime lord’s doll had met on a rooftop in Gotham. Jason grabbed another packet of sugar. “How are the hyenas anyway?”

  
The two talked about the dogs for a while, Harley telling Jason about the studded collar she’d gotten for her newest pup and the latest tricks she’d taught her pack. Jason even thought about making sweaters for the little howlers. Bruce had suggested he find something constructive to do with his anger that didn’t involve a gun, and on a whim he’d picked up some needles and yarn one night at the store. Not that he’d ever tell Bruce that, or pretty much anyone else for that matter, but Harley...Harley he could tell. She wouldn’t make fun of him, he thought, hell she’d probably even think it was cool. He’d have to get the measurements, or on second thought he could make it a surprise; he was pretty sure he’d seen them chasing the Batmobile as he taunted them out the window enough times as a kid to guess at the sizes.

  
“Well,” Harley sighed putting down her cup, “it looks like you’ve got things under control here, and I’ve got patients to see.”

  
“Dear Gordon, they still let you practice?” Jason asked in shock. Harley laughed.

  
“I was talking about Ivy and the babies, but I like the Robin-swear.” Jason looked down a little embarrassed but he chuckled too. Jason had been able to swear with more eloquence than most people could say anything since before he could remember, but while Bruce begrudgingly tolerated some swearing at the Manor he insisted that Robin use sparkling clean language. Jason on his part had improvised. After his death Jason hadn’t given a damn what Bruce thought of his language, but on occasion some of the Robin era substitutions slipped out. He just usually wasn’t around anyone who remembered where they came from when it happened. Harley stood up and smiled. “You know, fightin’ on those rooftops, both lookin’ like we stepped outta the circus, it wasn’t as long ago as you think it was.”

  
“No,” Jason sighed, standing up, “it was longer.” Harley smirked and turned around.

  
“Stay outta trouble TJ!” She called behind her as she started for the door.

  
“Always do!” Jason lied with a grin. He laughed as Harley flipped him off without even bothering to turn around. He walked back behind the counter and grabbed an incoming order. “Martin!” he shouted as he looked at the name, “Come on man, you gotta give me something to work with here.” 

  


  


Later that week Jason found himself across the street from the coffeehouse in the middle of the night, going head to head with the drug dealers that worked out of the warehouse, and their goons, and their goons’ friends, and their goons’ friends’ cousins from the looks of it. There were angry bastards coming out of the rafters and Jason was starting to lose his ground. He was getting off shot after shot, but he was only one guy in a sea of armed thugs. He had just broken free of a stranglehold when the air was suddenly thrust from his lungs by a boot between his shoulder blades. The cold concrete slammed against his elbow and his other hand sending shockwaves into his wrist. For once he was thankful to be winded, if only so his attacker couldn’t hear him scream. He rolled onto his back only to feel the boot once again, now stopping his breath through his chest. He looked up to see the leader of the ring smiling down at him.

  
“Well well well,” he purred, “look who we have here. The infamous Red Hood.”

  
“I’m flattered,” Jason managed, “that you’ve heard of me.” He groaned as the pain he’d been ignoring as he fought caught up to him now that he was pinned down. “Too bad I can’t return the compliment.” The drug lord’s smile faltered as a flash over anger overtook his expression, but he regained his smug look almost immediately.

  
“Well then,” he mused, leaning more of his weight onto Jason, “why don’t we get to know each other a little better? I’ll even let you go first!” The thug kicked Jason in the chin, knocking off his helmet and nearly knocking out one of his teeth as well. He looked up through his red domino mask and grinned. The rage in his attacker’s eyes would have been almost comical had it not been so deadly. Jason pushed through the pain as he propped himself up on his uninjured elbow and steeled his face against a grimace. He looked the drug lord in the eyes and spit the blood from his mouth onto the floor.

  
“Sorry, but I don’t let anyone undress me on the first date. Even if they are a two-bit lowlife kingpin wannabe.” He flashed another grin. “I’m just not that kinda boy.” He saw the surge of hatred on the dealer’s face and braced for the next blow, but suddenly they heard a huge crash. Very loud and very much not caused by a Mac-10. Jason grinned as he saw a blur of red and black swing past and used the distraction to flip the drug lord on his back. Two shots later and Jason was fighting side by side with Harley as she and her hyenas laughed maniacally.

  
Once it was all over, Harley sent her dogs home and the two escaped to a rooftop to watch and make sure that the police rounded up everybody who was left from the bust. Out of breath, they sat down and leaned against an air conditioning unit. Jason was pretty banged up and his wrist was definitely sprained or fractured or some other nonsense that he should probably have Alfred look at and probably wouldn’t, but he could have been a lot worse. He leaned his head back against the metal unit and closed his eyes.

  
“You think I should get Damian a hyena for his birthday?” he asked, coughing only slightly on his own blood and pain. Harley took her hand off her mallet and waved it dismissively.

  
“Eh, maybe. The kid does like animals. Let him take care ‘a one ‘a mine for a few days, see how he does. Tell him I’m outta town or somethin’.”

  
“Really?” Jason asked, opening one eye to look at her. “Thanks man. I’d really ‘preciate that.”

  
“Don’t mention it. It’ll be good for ‘em to get out without havin’ to go to work. Be like a vacation,” came the answer. He swallowed and gritted his teeth against the pain, catching his breath once again.

  
“And thanks for, you know,” he gestured to the now very battered warehouse, “savin’ my ass back there.” Harley stood up and started walking over to the edge of the building.

  
“Ay, it’s like you said kid,” She stepped up on the ledge and turned around to face him. “You’ve always got backup.”

  
She gave him a mock salute before swan diving off the edge, the enthusiastic shout of “woo-hoo” echoing behind her as Jason laughed. He leaned his head back again and looked up at the night sky. There were a lot of things he didn’t understand about Harley Quinn, and that he probably never would, but he did understand that the two were a lot alike, and that they were friends. And that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I love head canons about these two bonding over how much the Joker sucks so I thought I'd write something about their friendship. I hope you enjoy! I do not own DC Comics nor anything associated with it. Happy reading!


End file.
